


Kemer. A morning.

by ninamalfoy



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Betaed, M/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-13
Updated: 2010-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 05:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninamalfoy/pseuds/ninamalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Metze just can't get enough of Basti.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kemer. A morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Published first on LiveJournal on January 12th, 2005.
> 
> Not true in the least bit. I'm just borrowing their public persona to play.
> 
> I owe cerulean_eyes everything for prodding me to expand on the little drabble in my LiveJournal (also much thanks to erjika who made me take my laptop to uni so I could slash the Metzelly in the library) and then doing an invaluable beta on it. Love you, darling! *smooches*
> 
> And the title refers to the training camp in Kemer, Turkey, where the Dortmund bumblebees were staying about five years ago.

Basti's nape is addictive. Metze can't stop stroking it; feeling the soft bristly hairs brush and fan out around his fingers, hearing the soft 'mmmm'. He scoots closer, tracing the line from shoulder to hip, justsogently. Warm. Dips down to the hollow behind the hipbone, his hand flush against the skin. Basti turns slightly, revealing sleepy eyes, a slight smile and Metze is trapped.

"Already awake?" A finger traces his lips, continuing to his jaw, slightly scratching at the stubble, and he can't help himself, he lowers his head and their lips meet. Soft moans, touches getting more insistent, and Metze feels like he's going to burst, it aches, and he wants to climb into Basti, to claim him with stake and flag and brand, wants to make him **his**. He hisses when Basti clutches at his ass, presses him down against him, feeling the heat burn between them, rocking hard against him and biting his lips, burrowing into the juncture between neck and shoulder, it's toomuchtoomuchtoo...

Suddenly remembering the really not so insignificant fact that only a paper-thin wall separates them from Lars Ricken, Metze quickly covers Basti's mouth with his hand; there's not a hairsbreadth of space between them, slicksweathot, and he can't stop the addictive thrust-push routine they have perfected over the last year – they've gotten way too good at it. A whitehotblindingfirework rush; he feels Basti's muffled cry against his hand and his own loud groan shortly afterwards is drowned by the pillow. Damn.

His own weight has been held up partially by his elbows, which now give out at his sex-induced exhaustion; he flops down more or less gently onto Basti, who now embraces him tightly. "A good morning to you, too, Chris," Basti murmurs, the satisfaction audible in his voice.

Metze chuckles, his breath fanning out over Basti's flushed chest and raising little goosebumps. He nuzzles Basti's neck, humming slightly. Actually, he would love nothing better than to stay like this - cuddle up some more and maybe have another go at it; but unfortunately they will have to get up in about half an hour to get ready for training and he has vowed to himself to give his best, to show van Marwijk that he really is the old Metze, that he can be trusted and relied upon to be strong for the team. And he also really has to get back into the old routine of training with the team instead of doing rehabilitation exercises; it's really a world of difference.

But his secret motivation is that he doesn't want to miss out on any more matches with his best friend; it has pained him enough over the course of the last two years that he was restricted to watch the matches from the side lines or the VIP lounge – and whenever he was abroad, on TV, when he was lucky. Because he would so have loved to celebrate the honor of Basti being made team captain by hugging him on the field and whispering lewd suggestions in his ear, chuckling at how easy Basti can blush, and then seeing his lips quirk upwards in a wicked smile promising revenge; ah, to have missed this. Of course, he did all these things after he hobbled down to the locker rooms or to the exit where he waited patiently for Basti, but it just wasn't the same; the thrill was missing.

And most of all, he has missed being bone-deep exhausted after a hard game, dragging himself to the common shower just by sheer will, not seeing but rather sensing his best friend stumbling into the shower stall next to him, drowning himself in the hothardpouring water, feeling the exhaustion recede for a deep satisfaction at having given his best on the field, at never stepping back from a challenge, at being there for Basti – no matter at whatever cost.

In fact, this would be a good time to go showering together; Metze is aware of the still wetwarm come on their stomachs which is beginning to feel slightly unpleasant. He hopes that not too much got on the bed linens; it would be too embarrassing if the hotel staff would get first-hand knowledge about what they were up to. He also knows that Basti can't bear his full weight for too long; he'll start wriggling any time soon. So he presses a quick kiss to Basti's still slightly flushed cheek before he throws back the sheets and slides off Basti and out of bed. "Metze…" At hearing the plaintive moan, which means that Basti's not happy about being that quickly deprived by his warmth, he grabs Basti's hand and, ignoring the half-hearted complaints about brutal manhandling and neanderthal-like behavior, drags him out of his bed and into the adjacent small bathroom. His best friend stumbles after him, steadying himself with a hand on Metze's hip, sleepmussed hair sticking in any direction and yawning.

Basti's beautiful. Lean, hard-muscled, handsome features, beautiful smile that is quick to appear, blue eyes made to drown into. Metze doesn't consider himself good-looking, no. He sees himself as the funny, compassionate one; the one you'd trust your beloved pet with or ask for an important favor. Basti's the handsome star all the girls (and some boys as well, if you're considering the fact that he has been voted No. 5 of the 10 most handsome soccer players in a gay magazine, a fact he got teased with mercilessly by Metze and other teammates) are gagging for.

"Earth to Chris – what are you staring at me like that? Something wrong with me?", Basti asks, amused, eyebrow raising. Metze can't help blushing; it's all so old and yet new, to be in love with his best friend of several years. Or - has he always been in love and has just recently realized it?

He shakes his head, smiles. "No. Just can't get enough of you."

~ ende ~


End file.
